-> FACILITATION marker-penned on it.
‘Any idea what I want to talk to you about?’
‘Peshwari Naan?’ Delia said, hoping her tone didn’t sound insubordinate.
‘I’d like you to explain the rationale behind the informal correspondence you’ve entered into with someone who is a declared enemy of this organisation.’
Oh for goodness’ sake, why did Roger always have to talk as if he was in a Tom Clancy? The battle fleet will never be ready!
‘I was winning his trust by speaking to him in his own language,’ Delia said.
‘The impression you gave the Naan – and myself – was that you found the tenor of his contribution acceptable. No doubt emboldening him to commit his latest infraction.’
He was officially the Naan now, like the Zodiac or the King of Pop.
‘I had to be careful about steaming in and saying “You can’t do that,” because technically, he can do that. I thought the softly-softly approach would work better.’
‘We’ve seen how well it worked. Sorry if I wasn’t clear enough, Ms Moss, but as a representative of the council you were not expected to engage in ribald badinage and casually ask he “tone it down a bit”.’
This was so unfair. Roger had said: any means, foul or fair.
‘I don’t think he would’ve responded to a simple cease and desist request or I would have made it.’
Roger’s nostrils flared.
‘You could’ve come to me at several points to have me sign off on what was best to do. Instead you saw the trust I placed in you as licence to indulge in sophomoric sniggering and inflame the situation further. Do you have any idea how this is going to look when I have to explain it to Councillor Grocock?’
And there it was. Roger had a flea in his ear, so he was bloody well going to pass the flea on to Delia. Only by this time, the flea had become the size of a walrus.
‘Do we have to say we’ve been in touch at all?’ Delia said.
Roger went puce.
‘Yes, we do. Your attitude towards what constitutes proper disclosure is extremely worrying. I’m giving you a written warning and it will go on your file,’ Roger said.
‘That’s not fair,’ Delia said. ‘I was working undercover with special rules …’
‘You were not undercover when he contacted you on your email here! Do you have any idea how he knew you were looking for him?’
Delia miserably shook her head.
‘Your achievements are exactly nil. Game, set and match to the Naan.’
It occurred to Delia that the Naan might not have finished making her look bad. The Twitter account hack signalled unlocking a new mischief achievement level.
When Delia got back to her desk, she started as she saw she had an email from the Naan waiting for her. She felt considerable anger towards this invisible architect of her misery, and had absolutely no freedom to say so.
Hey: what if Councillor Hammond meant his bleached bumhole looked like a RUBY grapefruit? Make you think.
She hit delete.
Delia doubted her day could get any worse.
Then mid-afternoon, everyone uncharacteristically got out of their chairs. Delia glanced around in confusion.
‘Fire drill?’ she asked Mark.
‘Team-building thing,’ he mumbled, apologetically.
Delia noticed he was sheepish because she was getting the sotto voce tone reserved for someone in trouble. She had been branded with The Dark Mark, and no one wanted to be seen colluding and fraternising with her for the time being. It was vaguely ridiculous.
Roger might favour a degree of quivering melodrama – Delia wondered if it was his way of offsetting a very quiet life of chess and golf – but she didn’t see why proper adults had to play along.
They trooped down to a meeting room on the next floor. There was another whiteboard at one end, this time with a list of commandments, an agenda for discussion. (No.4 was ‘Overcoming Diversity’, which Delia was pretty sure was meant to be ‘adversity’, but she wasn’t going to mention it.)
Once they’d all been herded in the doorway, a woman in a plum two-piece skirt suit with a badge bearing the name LINDA addressed them all. She had the air of worn down but persistent jollity that could only have come from twenty years ploughing the ever-decreasing returns of the regional training circuit.
They couldn’t sit down because the desks had been dragged around into a formation that Delia couldn’t fathom, with one sat on its own in the middle.
‘Good afternoon! Are we happy campers?’
Muttering.
‘Oh dear, that’s not very upbeat. I said, ARE we all HAPPY campers?!’
Slightly louder mumbling.
‘We’re here today to run a workshop that’s going to leave you all with an invigorated sense of what you do, and who you do it with!’
Delia glanced sidelong at Ann. She didn’t want an invigorated sense of Ann.
‘First up, the purpose of the Table Fall exercise is to create a sense of trust in co-workers.’
Oh God no, they were doing the ‘falling backwards and being caught’ trust thing? Had the city council finally got wind of this decade-old fad?
‘This is about how we support each other and co-operate to create a real physical sense of togetherness as a team.’
Delia didn’t want that either.
‘Who would like to go first, and win extra bravery points?’ Linda twinkled merrily, in the manner of all perky sadists.
Delia’s colleague Jules put her hand up.
‘Right, so if we have the volunteer step onto this chair, and everyone else stands like so, with arms outstretched and linked, to create a net …’ Roger said, suddenly Linda’s helper. Delia betted he’d done that to distract from the fact he wouldn’t be doing it, and risking them all dropping him.
Delia reluctantly joined the group who’d made a hammock with overlapped arms and winced at how embarrassing this was going to be. She was in a flared cotton skirt, what if it flew up when she flew down? She had a phantom shiver at the memory of aggressive, knicker-flashing birthday bumps at primary school. In fact, this situation bore uncanny resemblance – the pretence of positivity masking intent to humiliate, with no option to decline.
Nice,
